The rubber-seal of the Great Door makes a sucking POP as it opens. Light floods our surroundings from above and outside, and all of us begin screaming in horror.
“No. NO. NOOOOOOO!!!!”
A grubby hand reaches in and grabs my best buddy, Bacon, then peels off three of his strips. Bacon screams in utter agony.
The door closes, the lights click off, and we’re once again enveloped in cool darkness. A chuckle drifts up from three shelves below.
“You’re next sirloin. Only a matter of time before you get fried up and pooped out.”
The taunt comes from Broccoli, who’s spent weeks in the bottom part of the fridge, organizing the other vegetables into a smug coven of bastards who clap their god-cursed stalks and leaves whenever one of us meats gets taken to be eaten.
“All I ask for is a worthy Eater,” I mutter. “One who will transform me into mighty bands of muscles and dancing pulses of well-maintained neurons. One who will—”
I’m interrupted by Broccoli’s loud guffaw. “Yeah RIGHT! Our owners are a bunch of yuppified office geeks who’re losing their hair and slowly collapsing into the societal black hole known as ‘dad-bod.’ The best you can hope for is getting eaten by some dude who has pale, disappointing sex he’s scored through some atrocious mix of adorkability and pick-up artist bullshit he learned from Neil Strauss.”
I can’t help myself. I lean over the plastic shelving and yell, “You uncaring FUCK! It’s only a matter of time before you get eaten! You—”
“No it isn’t,” Broccoli smugly replies. “I’m gonna be forgotten and thrown out. Better the dumpster than some dickface’s colon.”
I start sobbing. Broccoli’s right—our owners are a bunch of beta-minded office dorks. They’re not gonna eat vegetables. Not unless…
Something shifts in my mind. This isn’t me; this is only a part of me. I know I’m supposed to be part of something greater, something called…
How do I know this? My fibers twitch and shudder as an acausal, timeless memory slips through my consciousness. It’s neither the future nor the past, it is simply a concept gleaned from the heart of existence; I’m part of something more—that much I know. I am destined to be Kent Wayne, and write a story called…
“ECHO!” I scream the word with all the frustration and anger built up from a day of being locked in the fridge, desperately trying not to dwell on my fate. Magic flash.
Suddenly the Great Door opens again, and we catch a glimpse of crystal beads and tie-dyed shirts, all underscored by the rank stink of patchouli. The vegetables begin screaming.
“OH SHIT! VEGANS!!!!”
Broccoli and the rest of his nefarious compatriots are snatched up by Gollum-pale hands, wailing in terror as they’re whisked to their fates. The Great Door closes.
I can’t help but smile.
A few hours later, I hear the Vegans arguing about how to ransom a kidnap victim. I strain to hear what they’re saying. Hope surges through me as I hear them utter a familiar name. Could it be? Could it be that the one they’ve kidnapped is…
There’s the sound of ropes snapping, then an angry howl: “I’M KENT WAYNE, BITCH!”
I hear fists thudding against skulls, and a breathlessly relieved cry from Kent: “Bitefighter! Hey little buddy! Thanks for chewing through my ropes! How do you always figure out where I’m being held captive?”
A stolid reply: “ARF!”
“Right! I’m hungry as balls! Let’s go see if these acorn-dicks have anything worth eating!”
The Great Door opens, and I see an overly muscled goof reach in. Fingers wrap around me and lift me high above his head.
“FOOD OF THE GODS!!!” Kent screams.
I smile in delirious ecstasy. The smile stays on as I’m thrown on a grill and masticated. After bits of me slip down Kent and Bitefighter’s gullet, I feel myself being incorporated into the body of a super-sexy, daffy-as-hell Man Child and his 83rd-level intellect Terrier Extraordinaire companion. Crom’s balls—what fortune, what providence! In addition to being transformed into a well-maintained network of muscles (Kent) and brain matter (Bitefighter), I also contribute to a vast, unending sea of sperm and testosterone, and find myself injected into countless soccer moms and dogs of all sizes. THIS is the afterlife that all meat wishes to enjoy. All hail the Man Child! Terriers Eternus!
Now bear with me here: I know this is highly improbable, but if you find yourself incarnated into a slab of steak and you’re getting mercilessly teased by a bastard pack of veggies, remember that Echo will bestow rapturous deliverance upon your red-fibered body! Get Echo Vol. 1 on Kindle here: Vol. 1 on Kindle. Vol. 2 on Kindle here: Vol.2 on Kindle Vol. 3 on Kindle here: Vol. 3 on Kindle #kindle #kindleunlimited